Monday, 11 April 2011

The Jet Beads


The jet beads were treasure


To my teenage eyes


Sombre in the shadows


Of market stall trash


I claimed them like a bird


Proud they were mine


I wore the jet beads


Around my waist with them I would dance


And the jet beads wore me


In a picture I am who I most wanted to be


Calm inside


My cold string of darkness


My face like the moon


My hair dyed to mirror their colour


Midnight blue, alpine green, and black


My style changed


But I kept them


Until one day


I cut my string of jet beads


And gave half to my lover


It's left unsaid


But we realise


They are only glass.



2010



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